When my hand lets loose the pen
Lamp-less face I such parting darkness --
Preordained that Passing-night! God’s plan
So decrees, we all come home His timing~
Naughty wanderers, reclaimed beloved strays.
Then you must write for me, dear brothers
And sisters – that which yet need better said
And would I were it not for parting bed,
My throbbing head, blessed pillow of down
Such inevitable sleep no point longer fighting --
I hear the angels, sniff the starry-seas;
Hearken to the oars of Eternal ferry. Be not sad,
But glad for me. We will meet again, somewhere
Beyond the known dippers, to sail fondly further as
Blithering Gilligans and Compassless Skippers.
---------------------------------------------------------------
(No, I am not ill, that I am aware of. Just thought I would get this out of the way while still well and able:))
“Sedation”
by Positive Mark
Deep, still blue.
Rage from the Peekskills, now caged from his street skills, with the vantage point of a gargoyle heart of stone.
The streets should be mine, but there’s always other stragglers.
Used to be streets. Now, it’s backroads, chasing antlers.
Conjuring faces of the fallen. Wondering from what damned direction I’ma hear our sins calling.
Freeing the spirit with acts that defile matter.
Forever shaking the salt from the blood splatter.
Heart with a hard on for that incense carbon smoke.
Fix me up a bump, and I damn sure better choke.
Point me to the spot where them cats is on dippers.
Scroll down on Backpage for Baltimore strippers.
Five day admission, and back to the medication.
Deep, still blue.
Drenched in darkness for sedation.
September moon,
celestial skinny-dippers,
sangria soirée, so soused,
starlight swimming,
summertide celebratory,
singing soon sepia snapshots,
streaming in soulful sisterhood
psyches of sorrowful separating friends,
sadly, still scattered,
sweetly soliloquizing of
September of ‘76. ~
A wiz like no wizard before
A lion that wanted to roar
Tin man was hollow
That’s hard to swallow
But not like a man made of straw
Now Dorothy and her new friends
Took the road to see where it ends
The story is long
But don’t get me wrong
Click your heels three times and it ends
But heels don’t click well wearing slippers
You might as well try clicking flippers
Home, brain, courage, heart
They sought from the start
And Toto just sought chicken dippers
While seeking a voice that would bellow
They followed the road, strangely yellow
They strode feeling bold
But Toto was old
And also quite dribbly, poor fellow
But the wiz was a man behind drapes
He looked like he couldn’t crush grapes
His voice, someone cried
Has been amplified
And he’s got a balloon for escapes
What have I forgot or omitted
In this tale where weirdness has flitted
There’s witches, good and bad
And so much that is mad
That somebody should be committed
Sister Moonlight in your glass slippers
Come dance with me amongst the stars
We'll Pirouette by both the Dippers
And do the Waltz in front of Mars
Let's Swing around each constellation
Then Two-Step watching new stars born
We'll Hip Hop with no hesitation
And do the Tango till the morn
Oh Sister Moonlight hear my song
Reflecting all my words of love
We can sleep in peace all day long
Then dance amongst the stars above
Dippers, drinkers, smokers, sippers.
There was always bottle or can-openers
Because mom was a Coca-Cola lady.
She would have a Coke daily.
Grandma was a coffee lover
of one brand or another.
Coffee made her a thinker.
Daddy was a very hard worker
And a heavy cigarette smoker.
But also, a weekend whisky drinker.
He was certainly a Camel man,
But I don't remember the whisky brand.
I watched Grandma slowly sip from her cup.
Every morning, the hot coffee picked her up.
Most often, she would sip from the saucer.
And as she sipped, it was a joy to watch her.
A dot to dot for all to see
Rotating across the world
Everyone see's it differently
Depends which way you're twirled
You can play even in slippers
I connect Orion to his belt
Trace a mighty Leo's mane
Draw Hercules with his pelt
Then I'm interrupted by a plane
Right through Hydra's flippers
Link the horns to Taurus
And Pegasus to his wings
A shell for Delphinus porpoise
Few more lines in Lyra's harp strings
and Cancer's pinching clippers
My favourite dots to connect
In any constellation
Are the made up ones, I suspect
From my starry imagination
(plus, I can never find the dippers)
Nov 17, 2022
We live by the sea, just we two, you and me
It offers us all that we need
From our heads to our toes, you make all of our clothes
From sea grass and sometimes sea weed
If our ocean provides it, you will utilise it
I so like the way that you think
Our clothes made from stuff that you found on the beach
But your feet, well they surely do stink
Those earrings you made from a couple of cockles
That pendant you made from a shell
Your bikini top is a strap and two scallops
But your feet, they surely do smell
I keep us well fed from the sea and sea bed
While you keep us suited and booted
You’re my Wonder Woman it has to be said
But your feet, well they really are putrid
We sit on the shore and we like nothing more
Than watching the waders and dippers
But we can’t stay long, there’s a God-awful pong
For your slippers are made out of kippers
[For the uninitiated, kippers are butterflied, smoked herring.]
Wishful collections
pillowed goodbyes
Starlit reflections
glow in the eyes
Soft curtain quivers
sift on the breeze
November shivers
flow through the trees
Down feather laughter
full moon delight
Here ever after
soaring in flight
Red velvet slippers
dreams on the way
Big, little dippers
out on display
Comet tail shimmers
weary the feel
White candle glimmers
add the appeal
In bed you’re falling
slumber to weave
Sleep comes a calling
this autumn eve
Beware of the Brain-eaters, the Logic-disbelievers, the Beat-clippers.
They come on Halloween to thumb their noses at the sky dippers.
Big Dipper sends eighteen master witches to give them a star.
Little Dipper distances himself, hiding his end rays in Zeniths black jar.
Brain-eaters will go after your dendrite fields and steal the connectors.
Logic-disbelievers will annihilate red cells and change them to vectors.
Beat-clippers will hunt you, jump on your head and take you down.
You will laugh yourself into oblivion and maybe even soil your gown.
So, beware children, beware I tell you now.
The weird ones are out there, and I tell you good and how.
They will catch you and stomp you and take bites out of your skin.
So, run while you can; to stand still would be a real sin.
Those cowboys chased him ’cross the land
What a shame they hadn't planned
The man accused of rape and pillage
Made it to a distant village
Leather boots effecting entry
Every shack discovered empty
Save for one where ‘mum’ was cooking
Cowboys moved on, elsewhere looking
Who could know Geronimo
Would ever wear a kimono
And stand there cooking chicken dippers
Wearing bright pink fluffy slippers
Dipping back into the waters edge, shining bright above the line, a sense of calm
a sigh within my soul as I watch the Seven Sisters come into sight, alone
at first. Eyes adjust to darkest night, only a hint of the crescent moon
seen at the corner of my eyes. Power and might created a wonder down
from the Heavens into my spa, underwater light and overhead wonder soon
to keep mine eyes alert. The dippers appear in glowing light, reflective pools
of starry nights and casual days. Thoughts drift back to quiet nights, the calm
of the water, the moon, the star light, star bright, and I am peaceful all day.
Hearts tattered and dilapidated
Eyes warn with worry, looks vacated
These souls beaten and exhausted
Their love devoured by a raven
Birth of a child with a crib now empty
Baby food jars uneaten, dippers unused
Thoughts now linger with no purpose
Time no longer has a meaning, it has stopped
She carried a child to full term
Nine glorious months of laughter and cheer
Planing and organizing then naming
This name now placed upon a stone
Years have now passed this name still appears
Memories never to be forgotten, of that day
The day their son was placed into Gods arms
Life moved on but their thoughts have stayed
On the Day their son passed away
“Written for my Niece and her husband each year since his death they have a gathering letting balloons go up into the air it has now been 18 years”
GOOD MORNING BREAN
Hey, hey, hey!
What a beautiful day
Walking on the beach
The sea out of reach
Strolling in wet sand
Thinking about today’s plans
Men with rods at the shore
Collecting their fish galore
Dogs getting exercise
The whole beach is alive
Been walking so far I’m off track
Just a bit longer before I go back
Too late for skinny dippers
Too early for sun worshipers
The early sun and the morning breeze
Helps problems disappear with ease
Seaweed spread out in lines
Scattered pebbles and shells like stars in night time
Faint coasts in the view I see
This is the life for me
Precocious little Anne Marie;
On the morning she turned three;
While sitting boldly upon my knee;
Smiled brightly and asked of me;
“What does twinkle mean?”
“Aah” Said I. “Umm” Said I.
“What does twinkle mean you say?”
“Yes!” “You know like twinkle, twinkle little star.”
“Grandpa says I have a twinkle in my eye;
But I don’t know what, and I don’t know why.”
Now Anne Marie had just turned three;
And I’m sure you’ll all understand me;
When twinkle to define, I did try;
It ended in an endless series of: “But why?”
So, I sent her off to birthday play;
She and her friends had a raucous day.
Later that evening after we’d all been fed;
And just before it was time for bed;
Anne Marie, her mom, and I
Went out to view the night sky.
We found Sirius, bold and bright;
The North Star still shining its light;
We found dippers big and small;
Ann Marie sat transfixed by it all.
This was how we ended her day;
Sitting and gazing at the milky way;
Precocious little Anne Marie;
On the evening she turned three;
While sitting boldly upon my knee;
Yawned sweetly and said, “Now I see.”
Then cuddled up against my cheek,
And promptly fell fast asleep.
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